


Kaishaku

by Relvetica



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvetica/pseuds/Relvetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rose Bride has no will of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaishaku

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually remember when I wrote this. 2001 is close if not exact.

He wore white. Loose cloth was wrapped at his waist, the linen crisp and cool. It was paler than his own skin, an effect his own uniform often could not achieve. The colour could have swallowed him alive.

He knelt on the wooden floor of the kendo room, _his_ kendo room, more home to him than any dorm or house. It was lit sparsely; he had practiced here often in complete darkness, but for this they would need light. The irony was not lost on him. 

Touga knelt beside him (slowly, rather than clumsily; his back was freshly wounded, and his left arm was bandaged tightly to his body) and silently proferred a white porcelain bottle. Saionji held a shallow cup in his left hand; incapacitated as he was, Touga had to break tradition and pour the sake right-handed. Two pours, and the cup was full; Saionji brought it to his lips solemnly. 

He didn't like sake. He never had. Two swallows, and the cup was empty again. 

Touga turned and set down the bottle, and then placed before Saionji a low wooden tray. Saionji exhaled, not quite audibly, and allowed the white garment to fall open and back from his shoulders, baring his chest and stomach. Touga moved to tuck the white cloth back and behind Saionji's knees. 

Saionji wondered what Touga was thinking, right now. He wondered it to avoid thinking himself. 

He reached for the tray, pulling it towards himself; Touga took this as his signal and picked up Saionji's sword, moving just out of Saionji's range of vision. His last sight of his friend was a flash of loose red hair. 

He lifted an item from the tray, a short blade wrapped in a paper sheath. He pulled it free of its confines and, before he could have anything resembling second thoughts, stabbed himself swiftly in the abdomen. He cut from left to right, using all the control he had to keep his muscles from spasming, then pulled the knife up, completing the incision. 

It hurt. It hurt more than anything in the world, save the world itself. Still, he kept all traces of his agony from his face and posture, removing the knife from his body and placing it back on the tray. His hand only shook a little. He straightened his back and neck, putting his spine in perfect alignment, and leaned forward slightly; his bound hair fell past his shoulder and whispered against his ear. 

Touga stood behind him, wielding Saionji's sword one-handed; when the other boy leaned forward, exposing the back of his neck, the Seitokaichou lifted the blade, all grace and perfect form in spite of his wounds, then brought it down again, and bleeding became walking, and wine became bitterness on his tongue, and the pain remained pain, placing one foot in front of the other and looking at nothing at all. He wore street clothes, a duffel bag over one shoulder, and Touga walked beside him, staring straight ahead, his left arm bandaged and bound. 

\--- 

He woke in his bed, as he always did. 

He lay on his back, his hair splayed out on the pillow beneath his head. 

There was a faint scent of honey and roses on his pillow, where Anthy once slept beside him. 

The memory of his expulsion existed in his mind, but it was faint, and his honour was apparently intact. Few people asked him about it, which was just as well, as he was unsure of what to tell them. 

I lost everything, he could say. Between one moment and the next, I threw my life away, everything that meant anything cast at that woman's feet. Then I woke up, and I was here again. 

It made a weird sort of sense, really. As much as anything did. The path that led out of the garden was circular. 

His hands moved over his stomach. They came away slick with blood. 

\--- 

"At any rate, I'm not going to duel anymore." 

His small audience blinked at him uncertainly. He shrugged his hair back and tried to look confident, tried to look as though he knew what he was talking about. 

"How's that?" Nanami asked, suspicion clear on her young face. Emotion was so vivid in her, almost bleeding into the scenery around her. 

"We can't trust what the letters say. We never should have to begin with." 

Juri's low voice interrupted, touched with dry amusement. "One bitten, twice shy. You seem to have learned your lesson." 

That caused his memory to shiver, as it had to jump tracks to connect her statement to the present. 

"We've already verified the contents of the letter," Miki added. "It's not a fake. The gondola appeared, just as the letter said." 

Saionji sighed with apparent impatience. "I don't care whether what the letter said is true or not. I don't recall ever having to answer to Ends of the World. I will not fight by someone else's order. I refuse." He turned on his heel smartly and swiftly strode to the elevator. 

"Kyouichi!" Nanami called out behind him. He had to fight the impulse to roll his eyes. Not that anyone would see. 

"Don't try to convince me otherwise," he said coldly, and the doors to the elevators shut behind him with a rattle. 

He did not hear her quiet answer, but he was somehow aware of it anyway; a strange second kind of hearing that told him too much whispered her frightened little-girl voice in his ear. "No... I'd refuse, too." 

\--- 

The wound pained him horribly. His awareness of it was not constant; sometimes it seemed to vanish altogether, and sometimes he could hardly walk with the agony of it. The blood never stained his sheets or his clothing, and nobody else could see it, since nobody else knew it was there. He was careful to keep it that way, remaining stoic and angry in the face of his pain. No one else had any business knowing. 

He stretched out, pushing a white cloth over the wooden floor. It will kill me one day, he thought. My organs will fall out and I'll die. But he somehow stayed together, day to day, the pain a constant drone in his belly. 

He thought of the Rose Bride. He wondered if having a sword pulled from you, again and again and again, felt anything like having a mortal wound that was not there. Something told him that it hurt horribly in its own right, and was nothing alike. He saw Anthy's sad smile in his mind, as she had been when she shared his bed, and he wondered if he would ever understand. 

The day's dust came off of the floor easily. He took his duties seriously. 

"Scrubbing the floor, this late at night? How upright of you." 

The cloth moved over a section of the floor stained black. It came away reddened. 

"You'll be the champion at the local tournament again this year." Touga's voice contained a light, airy smirk. 

Saionji picked up the cloth and considered the blood on it, feeling the answering trickle down his side. "One of the reasons I hate you so much now," he said quietly, "is how conceited you've become." He looked up; Touga lifted a graceful eyebrow. "You're right. I will win again this year. But only because you will not bother to compete." 

"That isn't true." 

Saionji stood up, balling the cloth up in his hand; he would have to bleach it. "In this world, battles are only won by the strong. As satisfied as you are with your cheap tricks, remember that you lost to Tenjou Utena like everyone else." 

Touga's eyes narrowed. "As have you." 

Saionji said nothing. The slow, warm stream curled around his hip, tickling. 

The other's voice lowered slightly. "I heard a rumour that someone I know is quitting the duels." 

It followed the contour of his thigh muscles, reaching his knee. 

"I haven't given up, yet. Saionji, there's someone I want you to meet." 

He tried not to wince. "Meet?" 

"You haven't really given up yet, either, have you?" Touga smiled, knowingly and infuriatingly. "Listen." He put a hand to his ear. "Can you hear it?" 

Saionji gave him a wary look. "Hear what?" 

"As long as your soul hasn't given up entirely," Touga said softly, beginning to circle him, "then you should be able to hear this sound, running around the ends of the world." 

"Oh, bull _shit_ ," Saionji snapped, pulling away angrily. "I don't know what you're--" 

It was between one moment and the next. It was dark, but not so dark as to conceal the candy-apple red convertible that was suddenly in the kendo room with them. 

_In his kendo room._

"Then come!" Touga threw his arms and head back, shouting what sounded like a memorized line. "Journey with us, to the world that you desire!" 

Saionji was so shocked, he nearly forgot to be mortally offended. 

\--- 

His clothes had changed. 

He studied the sleeve of his Seitokai uniform and wondered when that had happened. Unimportant, he supposed. "So," he said, after several minutes of silence, "you're the Trustee Board Chairman who's engaged to Ohtori's daughter." 

The mysterious driver ignored him; Touga answered, as though he had been the one addressed. "Yes, and Himemiya Anthy's older brother." The mention of Anthy's name made Saionji's face go stoney; Touga smirked and pressed his advantage. "Do you want the Rose Bride?" 

Want. What a casual word. The way Touga said it, it sounded like he was offering a piece of gum. "What do you mean?" 

"Exactly what I said. What do you want, Saionji? What are your aims? What are your goals?" 

Saionji wrinkled his nose slightly. "Even if I knew what the hell you were talking about, I wouldn't tell you. I don't trust you, Touga." 

Touga moved closer to Saionji's side of the back seat and reached around to touch the back of the other's neck; Saionji started, his eyes going wide. "That's not what I remember. Aren't you my only true friend?" 

Saionji couldn't answer for a moment; the wound in his gut throbbed, and he wrapped an arm over it in surprise, gasping. "There's no such thing as friendship." 

Fingers lightly played over where neck became shoulder. "Is that so." 

"It is," Saionji gritted out. 

"I wonder..." Touga murmured, his hand dropping to Saionji's buttoned collar. "I wonder if you really believe that." 

Saionji bent over his arm, almost unaware of Touga's touch. "What are you getting at?" 

The other boy smiled and shrugged. "You must have some reason to reach the castle in the sky. To find something eternal, right? Like... eternal friendship?" 

Again, Saionji didn't answer. It was difficult to compose himself when he was already under such close scrutiny. Leaning forward as he was, the driver's long hair almost brushed his nose. 

"Do you remember the girl in the coffin, Saionji?" Touga asked. 

"No." 

_There was an extra coffin here. It must have been for me._

"There was a girl in a coffin, saying she needed to see something eternal. Right?" 

_Continuing to live is sickening._

"Maybe. I don't know. I can't--" 

Touga leaned forward and whispered. "Akio-san here was the one who saved her." 

Shock cut through his pain and discomfort; he finally turned and looked at Touga. "What?" 

"He showed her something eternal. He saved her." 

He stared at Touga, breathing heavily. Then he straightened a little, and shakingly reached a hand for the driver's shoulder. "Who..." 

"Purring nicely, isn't she?" The older man sounded lazily amused, as though he had been listening to the entire conversation and found it vaguely funny. 

"What? What are you--?" 

The driver chuckled. "The ends of the world... I will show it to you." 

Saionji's mouth went dry. "You're not... you _couldn't_ be..." 

Ohtori Akio turned around and bore painfully familiar jade-green eyes into Saionji's; the boy went silent. "Don't bleed on my upholstry. Blood's a bitch to get out." 

With that, the man performed an impressive flip over the windshield and landed neatly on the hood, but Touga had grabbed Saionji and thown him back against his seat, making him hiss with pain and surprise. It was enough to make him miss the fact that no one was driving. 

Touga's shirt was open; it had been since before they got in the car. His fingers reached for Saionji's collar again, even as the other boy tried to push him away. "Touga, what are you--" 

"Shh." Saionji's shirt came undone easily, then was pushed off his shoulders and down his arms. The skin of his chest and abdomen was smooth and unbroken. Touga stroked a hand along Saionji's stomach whisperingly, and Saionji gasped. 

The Seitokaichou lifted his hand up to where the streetlights could help him see; Saionji's blood looked black in the harsh yellow illumination. Touga frowned thoughtfully, then, dropping his eyes back down to Saionji's, grinned wickedly. Saionji swallowed sickly as Touga licked the blood, like a cat at a piece of meat it hasn't decided to bite into yet. 

"Touga?" he whispered uncertainly. His voice sounded very young and confused. 

Touga pressed a finger against Saionji's lips; he could smell the blood on it, and it turned his stomach. Touga urged him to twist around, so he was lying across the backseat; he found he only had to bend his legs a little accomplish this, even with Touga looming over him. He wanted to object, but found he couldn't speak; he swallowed and shut his eyes tightly as Touga began to unbutton the teal slacks. 

"I want you to come back to the duels, Saionji," Touga said softly when the other boy lay bare across the seat. Saionji stared up into a sky full of randomly placed stars and said nothing. "If you fight her -- if you /defeat/ her -- this will go away." His hand fell on the wound again, and Saionji gasped again. "It will never have been. That's what you want, right? Eternity. An end to the endless variations and changes." He sighed a little. "That's what I want, too." 

It was oddly soothing, his friend's touch. The edges of the wound were fever hot, and Touga's hand was cool. He resisted the odd urge to arch up against it. The night was /very/ cool, however, and he found himself shivering. That's good, he found himself thinking distantly. If I'm cold, the cut won't weep as much. Akio won't be angry. 

"Will you fight?" 

He didn't want to. He didn't want to be a pawn anymore. 

"Saionji." Touga's lips brushed Saionji's ear as his hand slid down the other's hip, and then his thigh, leaving a dark line down the unmarked skin. He knew, suddenly, that it was not Touga asking these questions, it was not Touga laying him bare to the night's chill. 

But it was Touga's hands on him. 

"Say yes, Saionji." 

Saionji whimpered, a small strangled sound. 

Touga grinned widely. "Good boy." 

\--- 

The Rose Bride has no will of her own. 

He lost, of course. How could he duel when he was already mortally wounded? He was no match againt Utena's soul sword. He had no Rose Bride to attend him. 

He was almost relieved when the car hit him, but of course he was not allowed to die this time, either. It just made his stomach hurt more. Dammit. 

It occured to him to wonder how he could digest food properly, having spent several weeks disemboweled. Months? Days. He didn't know. Maybe he had always been. Maybe he hadn't been eating. Maybe he didn't need to eat. 

He had not seen Touga since the duel. Just as well, he supposed. Never again, he told himself. No more duels. No more back seats. 

But even now, he knew it was winding down. He would not be called upon to fight again. He could be left to his kendo room, nursing his ever-present hurt, left to fade back into the bit players again. He wasn't so important. 

The Rose Bride has no will of her own. 

It explained a lot. 

And so Miki took his turn against Utena's sword. Then Ruka -- he did not even question Ruka's reappearance and subsequent redisappearance -- and then Juri. And then Nanami. 

All were emotionally gutted in the arena crowded by cars. All but Saionji. Too late, he'd done it himself. It was almost funny. Without thinking, he practiced the daki-kubi cut. It was a good thing to know how to do properly. 

Easy to do in kata, hard to do in real life. 

There was someone in the doorway. It seemed the universe had not dropped him after all. How annoying. 

"Touga." 

Touga wore his hakuma, and held a shinai in one hand. "Well," Saionji said. "Isn't this a surprise." 

"I have a match coming up soon." 

Saionji snorted. "Ah, of course. You throw yourself between her and a blade one day, then wield the sword yourself the next. Some prince." 

Touga scowled; Saionji blinked at the seriousness of the expression. "Someone is displeased with her winning streak. She can't be allowed to win if she doesn't wield the Sword of Dios." 

Ah. Touga was beginning to feel the pinch, too. Of course. 

It was his turn. 

Saionji took an offensive position, lifting his practice sword high above and behind his head. This stance pulled at things internally; it took effort not to wince. "I wonder why we all keep losing to that bitch," he muttered with effort. 

Touga held his weapon before his chest, defensive and guarded. "She _isn't_ a bitch." 

He and Saionji moved together; after years of sparring, they knew how to time their duels and how to read the other's stillness. Saionji was slow -- he was always slow, these days -- but he held up well enough, paying special attention to guard his abdomen. Already the exertion had broken the weak scab, releasing hot rivulets that never quite bled through the cloth. He was getting good at ignoring it. 

But Touga won. Touga always won. 

Saionji's sword was thrown from his grip by a particularly fierce blow, sending it skittering across the floor in a dramatic fashion. Touga swept around neatly and brought his padded weapon down on Saionji's neck, the force sending the kendo team captain to his knees. 

They held the position, breathing heavily, Touga's shinai resting at the junction of Saionji's neck and shoulder. "She's the girl from the coffin," Touga panted grimly. 

Saionji looked up at him, violet eyes wide. 

\--- 

He wondered what would happen if he tried to kill himself again. 

He wondered if it would make any difference at all. 

The wound he could not see was becoming infected. He couldn't apply logic to this, but sparring was becoming a terrible task upon his body. The injury was spreading. 

When next they met to fight, he told Touga what he thought of him. 

"Something's happened to you," Saionji said, blocking a strike and turning its momentum downward. Touga had to catch his balance to recover, making him more cross than he was to begin with. 

"Nothing's happened," he muttered. 

"Liar." Saionji knocked the recovering cut aside easily. Too easily. "Your confidence is gone from your form." 

"Like you'd know." Touga moved back a half-pace to resume his stance, and nearly missed deflecting a blow aimed for his wrist. "You've never been able to read me. Don't pretend you can now." 

"Who needs to read you?" Saionji pressed his advantage, following Touga's retreat. "You're arrogant. You're ambitious. You think of no one but yourself, and what will get you ahead--" 

"Hey, now. That's hardly fair..." 

Saionji shrugged, as swiftly and minimally as possible. "It's what you've always been. You play the gentleman, but you've never loved anyone. All you see are pawns to be controlled." 

Touga's eyes were dark, and something dangerous lurked beneath the surface of the lake-blue irises. "You're full of it." 

"That was your strength." Saionji told him. "Until someone forced you to taste it yourself." 

Cold blue turned nearly black. "You talk too much, Saionji. You leave yourself open." 

Touga slashed low and caught Saionji in the rib cage; he went down like a rag doll, collaspsing on his side and curling his legs in with a sharp grunt. Touga knelt by his side and shoved him back, putting a hand on Saionji's stomach and leaning on it. Saionji shouted, his voice echoing in the small building. 

Funny. He had kept from crying out before. 

"You sound very smart, Saionji," Touga hissed. He leaned forward, so they nearly brushed noses. "You think you really know that much about me?" 

It occured to Saionji then to wonder what sort of wounds Touga was hiding. But it was hard to care when the other boy seemed set on manually rearranging his internal organs. "You've made your point," he hissed in a sharp, angry whisper. "Let go of me." 

Touga held him down a moment more, as though making it clear that he wasn't releasing him because he had been told to, and let go, moving to sit upright. Saionji followed, slowly and stiffly and a little surprised at the easy surrender. There was no blood on Touga's hands, but the red-haired boy held them to the light, looking vaguely sickened. 

And so the wound he could not see spread, moving up into his chest, and down into his legs. He imagined it turning mottled colours with decay. He thought it must surely begin to smell bad. But all there ever was was a smooth expanse of flesh, unsevered muscles that worked normally. 

He lay in bed, blood making his hands sticky, and thought of Anthy. 

\--- 

"Who would have thought that Tenjou girl would turn out to actually _be_ someone." Saionji stretched out a little in his chair, up on the Seitokai's balcony. "The girl in the coffin..." 

"She's still in the coffin." Touga was thoughtful, but confident. "The only way to save her is to defeat her before she reaches the last duel. I have to do it." 

Saionji snorted and examined his fingernails. "Don't tell me you're actually in love with her." 

"Well." Touga gazed off into the distant view. "I'm not sure." Saionji looked at him sharply, but Touga refused to meet his gaze. 

"Ends of the World has sent us all many letters to date," Saionji started again, sipping a cup of tea. "And we have fought many duels, as written." 

"This will probably be my last letter." 

"Why bother with the letters? You don't need them. You serve him directly." He placed a slight amount of emphasis on the word _serve_ , and almost smiled when Touga's eyes narrowed. "Are you really satisfied with this situation? Do you like kissing his ass?" 

"He's the one who saved her." 

"Oh, of course. Silly me." 

Touga stood up and paced a little; Saionji watched him closely. "I want the sort of power he has. I want to be like him." 

Saionji was slow in answering, and when he did speak, it was soft. "Why?" 

The Seitokaichou stopped and frowned. "What?" 

"You say the Chairman saved her from that coffin. But now you say she's still trapped in it. Coffins may fall under his power, I don't think it has much to do with getting people out of them." He turned and met Touga's surprised blue eyes. "And it isn't just her, you know. We're still in our coffins, too." 

\--- 

He didn't sleep much. Sleep was for people who were well and whole and held no bitterness in their hearts. Sleep was for people who could look back a few weeks and see one string of events that led to the present, not three, or five, or ten. 

_I have dishonoured myself before you, the Rose Bride, and the entire school._

If you could, really, call it a string of events. 

_I have something very important to ask of you._

Things were changing rapidly in a place where things had never really changed before; had they any true need of a revolution? What did they have to revolt against? The things in his life that caused him pain and anger were not exactly material for history books. He was being used. His heart was broken. He sported a wound that wouldn't close. 

_The circumstances might make this a strange request, but--_

The only thing they had to revolt against was Akio. Oh, the irony. 

_I don't mean to burden you further._

He idly propped his feet up against the wall, seeking a more comfortable position with the logic only a teenage boy could summon. Blood trickled up his chest and dripped off onto the mattress. 

_I apologize for all the trouble I've caused._

There was someone else in the room. 

He tried to sit up, with a sharp grunt of pain, but Touga grasped his shoulder and pushed him down again. With what was almost irritation -- he was getting mighty sick of this -- he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. 

Touga stood over him, his arms full with a soft white bundle. He put it on the bed, next to Saionji's legs, and sat beside him. Saionji eyed him warily. 

"You're hurt," Touga said simply. 

Saionji didn't reply. but he looked down at himself and saw that the wound was visible, or least the blood that soaked his shirt was. He blinked. He had never thought to look at it at night. How strange. 

Touga reached down and unbuttoned the nightshirt, and Saionji looked away before he could see what the gash looked like. He fixed his sight on a spot on the ceiling. "What are you doing?" 

"I have something very important to ask of you." Saionji's chest was bared, cold where it was wet. "Something I would only ask of you. And you can't do what I need when you're in this condition." Touga reached for the bundle and separated it into gauze, surgical tape, bandages. 

"What makes you think I'll say yes?" 

"Because you owe me." He took a clean cloth and wiped down the afflicted area, inspiring an angry hiss. 

"I don't owe you anything. I asked you to help me leave this place, and I'm still here." Saionji tried to grab Touga's arm, but his grip was weak. "Stop it. That hurts." 

"Of course it hurts." A bottle of iodine was produced. "There aren't all that many ways to leave, you know. For people like you and me, there's really only one road out." 

Saionji shouted. 

"That's the road we need to travel now. But we can't get there by car or by sword." Touga held up a needle, dangling by suturing thread, as though he were offering it. "Do you want to take a ride with me?" 

"I don't know what you're saying. It can't be fixed, Touga." 

"I take it you don't approve of the method." Touga found the edge of the wound with gentle fingers, the carefully passed the needle through skin. Saionji couldn't stifle a stuttering moan. "I could make the pain stop. But it wouldn't do either of us any good. Just forgetting the wound is there will lead to decay." 

Saionji turned away, lip caught between his teeth. "What I don't... approve of... is--" 

"You're not in a position to disapprove of anything. You were never very good at gratitude, Saionji." 

"Hell if I care!" he choked out. While Touga was applying the the stitches with a surprising amount of care and precision, the additional pain couldn't be worth it. He had gone on this long. He could have gone on forever. "What is it... that you need from me?" 

"I have to battle Tenjou Utena and take her out of the running. I have to take her out of his hands, and to do that, I have to defeat her." 

"Touga, that's... exactly what he wants you to do." 

Touga's face went oddly blank for a moment, and his hands hesitated at their task. It was no relief. "I know." 

The stitches were nearly complete, but still Touga paused. Saionji pressed on. "He gives us all a motivation, and she's yours. Fighting won't win her for you; what sort of logic is that? What do you think you're going to get out of this?" 

"The power to revolutionize the world." 

"Into _what?_ It's meaningless, Touga." He heard his voice catch. "As meaningless as offering eternity as a prize. Or miracles. Or inspiration. It's just as much a mirage as that castle." 

"You're wrong. If I defeat her, then he can't touch her. I will be the one to fight Ends of the World. What happens after that... doesn't matter." 

Saionji stared up at him disbelievingly. Touga's hands resumed pushing the needle through flesh, drawing it out again, tightening, tying, and severing. "I need you to stand with me, Saionji. I need you to be my Rose Bride." 

The final stitch was finished. Touga ran a hand lightly over his work, smiling a little, and then reached for the gauze. Saionji sat up to look; it wasn't so bad, after all. "He'll slaughter you." 

"I said, it doesn't matter." 

"When?" 

The gauze was taped into place, hiding the damage behind clean white. Saionji had to sit up so the bandages could be wrapped around his midsection. Touga kept an arm behind his shoulders, largely unnecessarily. A blur of red in corner of Saionji's eye. "I'll tell you tonight." Small steel butterfly clips held the bindings in place. It was done. 

Saionji lifted his arms and stared down at himself in wonder. It hurt almost as much as it had when it was new. "Tonight." He stood, with an odd sort of glee. "We rise from our coffins!" 

"If you want to be dramatic about it." 

"The coffins Ends of the World has prepared for us!" 

"Saionji." 

"What?" 

"I just gave you forty-six stitches. Lie down." 

"... Oh. Right." 

\--- 

"So... shall we?" 

The Victor and the Bride sat beneath a tree, chatting with each other quietly. They looked sad. They fell silent as they saw the two upperclassmen approaching them. 

"Hi," Touga said amiably. "May we join you?" 

Saionji sat, folding his legs gracefully as Touga took Utena a short distance away to talk. The Duelists stood, leaning against the tree, as the Rose Brides rested at their feet. 

Anthy showed no outward reaction as Saionji leaned back to recline against her crossed legs. He could hear Touga and Tenjou talking, arguing, as though from a great distance; he stared up at the blue sky for a moment, nearly blinded by it, before letting his eyes drift shut. He felt better than he had in a very long time. 

He opened his eyes again and found Anthy looking down at him, that stunning shade of blue reflected in her glasses; he couldn't see her green gaze. He looked up into her face for what felt like a very long time. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It was barely more than movement on his lips. 

She leaned forward slightly, moving her face out of the angle of the sun; her eyes held a suggestion of emotion he would never presume to guess at. Her lips curved, however, into a smile that was all to easy to interpret. 

He smiled back, and again gazed up at the sky. 


End file.
